


Pills & Flowers

by shamelesstravesties



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-08
Updated: 2015-03-08
Packaged: 2018-03-17 00:16:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3507986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shamelesstravesties/pseuds/shamelesstravesties
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mickey goes to pick up Ian's meds for him, and on his way back, he decides to get him a little something else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pills & Flowers

**Author's Note:**

> based on the prompt:  
> ian asks mickey if he will go pick up his meds and mickey agrees and then ends up deciding that he’s gonna go all out and get ian chocolates and flowers and shit because he sees a flower stand on the way back to the house and there is flustered embarrassment when the flower person asks about his girlfriend and he has to explain who they’re for and same thing with the chocolates and obviously ian loves that mickey wanted to be spontaneous like that (i’m sorry i really want fluff okay lovey fluff)

“Have you taken your meds yet?” Mickey says, almost out of habit at this point, as he walks over to grab his mug of cold coffee from the kitchen counter.

“I will, I will.” Ian responds, waving him off, preoccupied with playing peek-a-boo with a delighted Yev.

“Nah, man, the doctor said you had to take them every day, come on.” Mickey reaches to open the cabinet where they kept the little orange bottles.

“Fuck the doctor.” Ian mumbles quietly, but Mickey hears it anyway, and sighs.  
He walks over to the table, where Ian’s sitting, facing the squealing baby.

It’s shit. Mickey hates all of it. Mickey hates how the pills make Ian feel like he’s not self-sufficient, like he’s sick or crazy or messed up. Like he can’t take care of himself. And looking at how Ian’s staring blankly at the table right now makes him want to flush the pills down the toilet. He wants to just make Ian feel better and the most aggravating part is that he doesn’t know how to do that.  
It used to be different. Ian was always clear on what he needed, on what he wanted from Mickey. It was just that Mickey was too scared, too defensive, to give it to him.

But now that Mickey’s let that all go, now that he wants to give Ian everything he can, he has no idea what it is Ian needs, and it makes him want to punch a fucking hole in the wall. Not knowing how else to communicate this to Ian, Mickey hesitantly lets a hand fall on Ian’s shoulder and squeezes it gently.

“Hey, come on.” Mickey says, his voice softer now, as he sets the bottles on the table. “I know it sucks. A lot fucking sucks right now.”  
Ian turns to look up at Mickey and gives him a little smile.

“Okay.” He says, simply, and starts opening his pill bottles.

“What?” Mickey stares at him, his eyebrows shooting upwards. “What, it was that fucking easy this whole time?”

Ian laughs, easily, and it actually makes the knot in Mickey’s stomach unclench a little. “I know I’m being a pain in the ass about the whole med thing. I know I have to take them; I just hate it. I hate that I have to be medicated just to feel normal.”  
Mickey takes a seat next to Ian, pausing for a second to wipe some drool off of Yevgeny’s chin.  
He’s about to respond—not that he knows what he’s even going to say—when Ian empties the second bottle into his open palm.  
Only one red pill falls into Ian’s large, freckled hand.

“What the fuck?” Mickey exclaims and grabs the orange bottle to look at the date. He groans. “Jesus fucking Christ.”  
Ian looks at him, the expression on his face somewhat amused.

“We forget to refill them again?” he asks, already knowing the answer.

“Yeah,” Mickey nods, cussing himself out inside. If Lip knew he forgot again, he’d give him that whole speech about how Ian should be staying at home “with his family” again. “I’ll just call the pharmacy, I don’t think you need to get another prescription.”

He fucking hopes Ian doesn’t need another prescription because it would take at least a week before they could get an appointment with that fucking doctor—the one who seems to have a permanent stick in his ass—and Mickey knows that after a week without his meds, Ian would not be doing well.  
So Mickey leaves the room, with a kiss to the top of Yev’s head and another squeeze to Ian’s shoulder.  
As he leaves, he sees Ian shrug and swallow the last pill. At least he’s good for today.

When he returns, it’s with a relieved grin.  
“Good news: no need for a new prescription. Should be ready in twenty minutes. You can just grab ‘em and be back for lunch.” Mickey says, easily falling back into his seat.

“Great.” Ian nods, with a smile, but something’s not right. Not there.

Mickey sighs heavily and leans forward.  
“Okay, out with it. What’s wrong?” he demands.

“What? Nothing,” Ian lies. Mickey raises his eyebrows, because, seriously? Is Ian really going to try and lie when it’s just so obvious? The way his voice goes up, the way he gets all twitchy, Ian has more tells than a rookie at a poker game on 12th Avenue.

“Spit it out.” Mickey waits, crossing his arms.

Ian sighs and averts his eyes away from Mickey’s face, instead choosing to focus on how Yev is avidly playing with a set of keys in his high-chair.  
“I don’t know. It’s just…that old geezer who works down at the pharmacy always gives me these looks like…I don’t know.” He repeats, wringing his hands uncomfortably.

Mickey thinks he knows what’s going on.  
Ian’s ashamed of needing the pills, of having to go there and sign his name and basically admit that he can’t function without those chemicals.

“Okay, I’ll go.” He says, simply, already getting up.

“What? No, Mickey, it’s fine, I can—” Ian rises as well, trying to stop Mickey, who’s already got his shoes on.  
Mickey smiles a little to himself and then shrugs at Ian, to indicate it’s no big deal, whatever.

“Nah, man, I promised I’d bring Yev over to see Svet anyway—she’s been bitching about it for god knows how long—so it’s on my way. I’ll be back in about an hour, yeah?”

It’s not exactly on the way, but it’s close enough, and it’s not like it would make a big difference anyway.  
To Mickey’s complete surprise, Ian plants his lips on Mickey’s cheek and murmurs, “thanks”, when he pulls away.

“Yeah, whatever.” Mickey shrugs again, trying not to let Ian see the blush that’s creeping up his face. Instead he focuses on Yevgeny, and getting him into his shoes and sweater.

“Here, let me.” Ian says, plucking Yev out of Mickey’s arms. “You’ll need to have the prescription number, otherwise they won’t let you get them, ‘cause they’re not under your name.”

“Oh, right, yeah.” Mickey nods and goes off to grab the now empty orange bottles on the table. Once he’s copied the number off of them into his phone, he’s about to go and grab Yev to leave, but he pauses at the doorway, and watches Ian interact with his young son.

“And you’re gonna get to go see your mommy and you can tell her how much fun you had with your daddy. Right, Yev?” the baby squeals happily as Ian fits his pudgy arms through the sleeves of the sweater. “Yeah, that’s right!”  
Mickey can’t help a smile sneak onto his face as he watches this scene unfold in front of him. But then Ian looks over at him and smiles, and says to Yevgeny, “looks like your daddy’s ready to go!”

“Yeah, yeah, alright, c'mere.” Mickey says, picking up Yev and settling him into stroller. He turns to Ian to say, “back soon,” and is rewarded with Ian’s hand ruffling up his hair. He scowls at him like he’s pissed, but Ian just grins because he knows he isn’t.

Mickey finally leaves, and begins heading over to the local pharmacy they’ve been using. Originally, Ian wanted to use the piece of shit place down the street, where Mickey used to do deals in the bathroom when he was fifteen, but Fiona was adamantly against it. When Mickey surprisingly sided with his sister, Ian agreed to get his prescriptions sent to the CVS down by where Sheila Jackson used to live.

So that’s where Mickey goes now, and he walks in looking like quite the sight, with a sleeveless flannel shirt sticking to his back thanks to the merciless weather of Chicago in July and knuckles reading FUCK U-UP as his fists clench around the stroller.

An old lady with a lilac parka and a walking stick shoots him a look that is half-terrified and half-judgmental and Mickey grinds his teeth together. Who the fuck does this old bitch think she is, seriously?

When she doesn’t take her eyes off of him, he unclenches his jaw and shoots a sharp, “Can I fucking help you?” at her. Her eyes widen and she quickly scurries away—well, as quickly as old women can move.

Mickey smirks to himself and approaches the counter.  
“How may I help you?” the elderly man behind the counter asks in a monotone.

“Uh, yeah, I’m picking up a prescription for Ian Gallagher?” Mickey says, uncomfortably. He doesn’t really know how this shit works—Ian’s always picked up his own meds, though usually with Fiona or Lip or someone with him.

The man scrutinizes him from behind his glasses and Mickey shifts from foot to foot, awkwardly.  
“You’re not Ian Gallagher.” He says, and Mickey automatically wants to retort that that’s none of his fucking business, but he restrains himself.

“Yeah, I’m just picking it up.” Mickey really wants to just get the fucking pills and get the hell out of here, and he’s starting to see why Ian hates coming here.

“Do you have the prescription number?” the old man asks, still looking at Mickey skeptically.

“Yeah.” Mickey says, and pulls out his phone to recite the number at him. After this, the man rolls away on his chair to retrieve the prescription. With another glare, the elderly man hands over the small paper bag and has Mickey sign for it, and then Mickey turns away to go.

“Jesus, what is it with these fucking geezers?” Mickey mumbles to himself under his breath.

He’s quicker to get over to Kev’s house, because he doesn’t want to linger. He just wants to drop off the kid and get the hell out of there before a Gallagher spots him.

After four insistent knocks on his former business partner’s door though, his patience is wearing thin.

“Hey, open the fucking door!” He yells. “Or I’m leaving the kid on the fucking front porch!”  
He’s about to slam his fist on the door again when it swings open. Kev’s there, looking flustered and out of breath.

“Oh, uh, Mickey! Good to see you, man! What are you—?”

“Save it, man.” Mickey shoots and pushes the stroller inside. “I don’t care that you’re banging my wife.”

“I—what?” Kev sputters, but Mickey ignores him, because Svetlana’s just come into the room.

“I bring him back Wednesday.” She says, simply—no bullshit, no small talk.  
“Not at fucking midnight this time either.” Mickey warns, but when Svetlana nods instead of retorting, he sighs and says, “thanks.”

This seems to surprise her, but she nods again and leans forward to take Yev out of the stroller.  
Mickey turns to leave and Kev follows him to the door.

“Uh, leaving already? Why don’t we, uh—?”

“Seriously, dude.” Mickey faces him once he’s outside. “It’s not me you have to answer to.”

And with that he leaves, the paper bag still clutched tightly in his left hand. He’s glad he got out of there quickly, but he thinks it too soon, because as his luck would have it, he hears a familiar voice calling, “Hey! Mickey!”  
He doesn’t bother to cover his groan as he turns around again.

“Jesus fucking Christ, weren’t you supposed to be back at school?” he says, because God, will he ever get rid of Lip Gallagher?

“Chill the fuck out, I was just picking up my mail.” Lip responds.

“Right, well, if that’s all, then I’ll just be on my—”

Before Mickey can walk away, Lip cuts him off.

“Are those Ian’s?”

Mickey feels a primal growl rising in his throat.  
“Yeah.” He says, almost like a challenge, like a ‘so what if they are?’ Does Lip know how often Ian needs to get his meds? Does he know they're way late on getting a refill?

“You picked them up?” he asks.

“Well, since I’m the one fucking carrying them, I’m gonna say yeah, I did.” Mickey scowls at him.

To his surprise, Lip grins. “Alright, alright, just kinda threw me off. Catch you later.”

And then he turns away from Mickey and walks away. Mickey looks after him for a minute, wondering what the fuck kind of interaction that was, but then shakes it off and starts heading home.

He cuts across the park to make his trip shorter—not that you could really call that piece of shit a park. He remembers coming here with Mandy when they were younger, just to get out of the house, to get away from the stench of whiskey and the echoing yells coming from their parents’ bedroom, but it’s not like the park was much better. Sure, some kids would be there. But it was mostly drunk homeless men sleeping on the benches, and wafer-thin cokewhores sucking guys off behind the swings.

It’s pretty much the way Mickey remembers it. There’s a bearded man rambling on about communism to thin air, and a girl with yellow teeth and a wasp’s nest for hair approaches him, but he quickly waves her off.

“Hey, um, would you wanna buy this Star Dust?” a female voice asks, almost nervously, and Mickey spares half a glance at the small brunette before shaking her off and continuing to walk.

“Nah, I’m off the stuff. And you’re gonna need to be way less obvious if you don’t want your ass thrown behind bars.”

“What?” the girl asks, and Mickey actually stops to look at her. She’s skinny, but not heroin-skinny, and her cheeks are full and rosy, and from the look in her big brown eyes, she really has no idea what Mickey’s talking about.

Then he looks down at what she has in her hands and a grin spreads over his face. Flowers. They’re flowers.

“This is what you meant?” he asks, pointing to the white roses in her arms. She nods, unsurely.

And then Mickey starts to laugh. Because what are the odds that he stumbles across some naïve girl trying to sell flowers in this part of town?

“Um…does that mean you’re gonna buy some?” she asks, still looking at him unsurely.

“Depends.” Mickey says, still grinning. “This all you got?”

She looks more eager now, and she shakes her head. “No, my truck’s right there.” She points, and Mickey looks over—and sees a huge truck, parked on the curb at the end of the park, painted a bright pink, with Carly’s Flower Arrangements written across it in cursive writing.

He almost starts laughing again, but instead he walks over to the truck with the flower-girl, a grin still on his face.

He’s never been one to buy flowers before. But then he remembered the look on Ian’s face when Mickey told him he’d go get his meds for him, and he just feels like he should. He wants to. Even though he can’t fix Ian, can’t save him, he needs Ian to know that he loves him. He never has before—god knows he’s done the complete opposite—but now Ian needs him, and hell if Mickey’s going to let him down.

The brunette jumps into the truck and opens up a window, much like a food truck, or Lip and Kev’s old ice cream truck.

“So you Carly?” he asks and she nods.

“That’s me! Hey, out of curiosity, what did you think I was trying to sell you?” she asks, a smile now spreading across her face.

“Well, you said star dust, so I kinda assumed.” Mickey says, shrugging. She still doesn’t seem to understand, just shaking her head.

He furrows his eyebrows at her.

“You know…star dust? Snow? Gutter glitter?” he shoots them out like they’re members of One Direction and he’s a 12-year-old girl.

She just looks even more confused.

Mickey snorts. “Crack. You know? Cocaine?” he says, slowly, and then grins as the girl blushes crimson when understanding crosses her.

“Oh.” She mumbles.

“Yeah, you might want to reconsider your names.” He looks back at the park, where the homeless man has started yelling at a tree. “And maybe your location.”

She lets out a little laugh at this. “Yeah, that might be a good idea. You’re the first guy who hasn’t either asked me for a blowjob or told me that I’m Stalin reincarnated.”

Mickey shrugs. “What can I say, I’m a gentleman.”

She laughs again. “Well, it’s appreciated. So what can I get for you, if it’s not crack you’re after?”

“Fuck, I don’t know.” Mickey says, scratching the back of his neck. How the hell is he supposed to know what kind of flowers Ian would like? Would Ian even like flowers? Is that ridiculous?

Carly spares him from his inner worry.

“Tell me about her.” She says, softly.

He looks up at her. “Tell you about who?”

“Your girlfriend. The girl you’re buying these flowers for. Tell me about her. What’s she like? It’ll help, trust me.”

“Oh.” Mickey looks down and shifts from foot to foot, which he does a lot when he’s nervous. “Well, see, it’s not exactly like that.”

“What do you mean?” She asks, and the confused expression she was wearing a minute ago returns.

At this, Mickey smiles a little, because she reminds him a little bit of Ian when he was younger, when they first started hooking up—the oblivious kid who grinned at him from behind the glass, his stupid red hair hanging in his stupidly cute face.

“I mean, his name is Ian.” Mickey says, confidently. “He wears a lot of shitty plaid, and he’s obsessed with superhero movies, and he hates the smell of sandalwood, and he smiles like a little kid but he fucks like a wild animal.”

He grins when another blush takes over Carly’s face.

“Right. Sorry.” She mumbles.

“No worries.” He shrugs. “Any ideas?”

“Oh! Yeah!” she exclaims, suddenly chipper. “I got just the thing.”

She turns around and Mickey’s left waiting awkwardly in front of a giant ass pink flower truck, not really sure what to do with himself.

When she returns, she’s holding a small bouquet of simple long white flowers. As Mickey looks at them, he realizes they’re actually kind of perfect for Ian.

“What are they?” he asks, unable to hold back his curiosity.

She smiles, pleased with herself. “White dendromium orchids. I call them White Butterflies.”

Mickey stares at her and blinks. “You can remember that but you don’t know what star dust means?”

She laughs. “You want them or not?”

Mickey grins back. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll take them. He’ll like them. How much?”

She smiles softly. “Just take them.”

“What?”

“Yeah, I figure I owe you one. I’d probably end up arrested if it wasn’t for you.” She jokes, wrapping the flowers up in newspaper and handing them to Mickey. “I hope your, uh, boyfriend or, uh…” she stutters, awkwardly, and then pauses to take a breath. “I hope Ian likes them.”

“Thanks.” Mickey says, genuinely, beginning to walk away. “And do yourself a favor?” he calls back to her. “Don’t try to sell fuckin’ flowers in the South Side!”

With that, he leaves, shaking his head a little, incredulously.

It’s not a long walk till he gets home, and when he closes the door behind him, he hears Ian call, “Mick? Is that you?”

“Yeah!” he yells back, walking into the kitchen and dropping the paper bag on the table, just as Ian walks in.

He’s obviously just gotten out of the shower, as his hair’s dripping wet and all he’s got on are a pair of jeans. Not that Mickey’s complaining.

“Since when do you read the newspaper?” Ian snorts, looking at what Mickey’s clutching in his left hand.

“Oh. Right. About that.” Now Mickey starts to feel a little awkward, but he still holds up the flowers and pushes them towards Ian.

Ian looks down, confused, but then realization dawns upon him and he stares at Mickey, his eyes wide in shock.

“Are these—?” he starts to ask, but Mickey cuts him off.

“Fucking take them, would you?”

Ian beams, wider than Mickey’s seen him in a while, and launches himself forward to press his lips on Mickey’s. Mickey stumbles backwards in surprise, but then melts against him, his hand automatically finding its place on the back of Ian’s neck. It’s exactly what Mickey will never admit that he loves—sweet and soft, yet fierce and full of emotion and Ian playfully bites Mickey’s bottom lip before he pulls away.

“Thank you.” He says, resting his forehead against Mickey’s.

Mickey shrugs. “They’re just flowers. Whatever.”

Ian laughs. “You’re an idiot.”

“Hey!” Mickey says, defensively.

Ian just laughs again and pulls Mickey back to him, so he can mold their lips together again.

“Don’t get why you’re so into all that cheesy shit.” Mickey mumbles when they come up for air.

“Then why do you do it?” Ian asks, cheekily.

Mickey shrugs it. “’Cause you like it.”

Ian looks at him, like he’s trying to figure something out.

“What?” Mickey asks, uncomfortable.

“Nothing.” Ian responds, still smiling, and wraps his arms around Mickey’s waist, nestling his face into his neck and then murmuring against the soft skin there, “love you, too.”


End file.
